“Gotta be quicker than that,” Reno remarks, ducking under your leg when you gear up to sweep kick him. It was his idea to use the training room to spar with you. Roping Rude into it had also been his doing. “Avalanche won’t play half as nice as us, y’know,” he snarks, countering each of your movements with ease.

Keeping track of both Turks is troublesome, what with Rude’s rapid strikes and Reno’s metal rod crackling with lightning materia. The moment you misstep, Reno is there, thrusting the rod forward and causing you to stumble backwards, right into Rude who easily subdues both your hands behind your back. “Zap,” Reno quips, lips curving into a grin. He levels his truncheon at your neck. “That’s time.”

“Forty seconds,” Rude says, his breath ghosting across your ear from behind. “Left yourself wide open again, {{user}}.”